


quietus

by khirimochi (NekoAisu)



Series: posthumous [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bondage, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Fixation, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Smut, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/khirimochi
Summary: He trusts Hien explicitly. That is his greatest blessing and intrinsic weakness.
Relationships: Hien Rijin/Original Character(s), Hien Rijin/Warrior of Light
Series: posthumous [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1266878
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	quietus

**Author's Note:**

> staring the year off with some really soft shibari fic of fahmi n hien. there will be more,,,,, whenever i finish this,,,, yeha,,,,
> 
> there are a good number of pics [here](https://house-nikephoros.tumblr.com/) if you want refs for my wol ;3c  
> (or via this link if above does not work: https://house-nikephoros.tumblr.com/ )

There is a settling that occurs when bereft of movement. A little death. A trust fall. A line of careful knots keeping the Warrior of Light on his knees. 

There is silence in it, comfortable and heavy like an old quilt, that drapes over his shoulders and reminds that he can slow down. Breathe. Allow the tension to drip from his shoulders down his arms and out from the tips of his fingers. Waiting for each knot to be tied is therapeutic, perfect, _jarring._ He trusts Hien explicitly. They’ve practiced this dozens of times and spoken of it many more beforehand. 

It still does not prepare him for the careful touches, the testing of tension for the safety of his body, or how his mind falls silent. After years of dealing with paranoid clamoring at so much as the twitch of a finger, it is nearly overwhelming to be without it.

Hien speaks to him quietly. It feels reverent, almost. Nearly like any louder and their transient attempt at peace would be shattered. It is barely louder than a whisper when he asks, “How are your arms? Everything alright?”

It takes a bit for the words to filter through a familiar haze, long enough that Hien stops to smooth his hands through his hair and asks again. 

“Can you hear me, Fahmi?”

Flexing against the bonds, he opens his mouth to respond but can’t, breath catching when Hien tucks a strand of hair back behind his shoulder. Even something so innocuous as breathing is a wash of sensation where the rope draws taut against him, the featherlight brush of his own hair terribly cruel where it raises goosebumps in its wake. To be restrained in such a way is not new, but it is no less intense for his previous experience. It takes a few more tries before he manages a halting, “Yeah. ‘M… good. Real good.”

His hands flex, fingers curling around nothing, and the feeling of relief that follows Hien’s hand settling on his hip is nothing short of a rush. “Remember the signals?”

He nods, not trusting himself to be able to speak, and aether flickers around his head in shades of blue. They’d agreed that─after a lot of trial-and-error, accidental shocks, and the strange not-quite-subspace Fahmi tends to slip into─something visible and not requiring verbal cues would be safest. The ability to access the pocket dimension Hydaelyn has gifted him is a strange (if not incomprehensible) thing to use as a safeword of sorts, but they make it work. 

“Ready?”

At his soft noise of assent, Hien breathes out slowly. Fahmi matches his breathing out of habit and nearly _vibrates_ when it comes out as a deep purr. He flushes in splotches, red rising high on his cheeks and sticking even after Hien soothes with a hand guiding him to settle into the kneeling fully. Even having been in this tentative courtship for more than a year, he still cannot in good conscience subject his lover(?) to such embarrassment as to have to listen to him purr. 

(They had argued on it, once. Fahmi does not purr quite right, the sound a mix between a rumble and a wheeze. Hien stands by his opinion of it─that being the sound is endearing─even when Fahmi tamps down on the reaction and forces his emotions to heel. To sound like that is… less than desirable among Miqo’te circles, even less so with a partner he wishes to _impress._ What charm does such a strange sound even hold?)

He listens to the touch and forces the tension to drain from his shoulders all over again. Hien smiles. Fahmi feels like he’s looking at the sun for all the warmth is gives him. 

It feels like one second he’s looking at that blinding smile and the next he’s in the dark, a strip of cotton carefully doubled over and tied about his head in place of a proper blindfold. It’s a multi-step process that involves some soft cursing at hair getting in the way, but he’s too deep within the feeling of letting go and allowing himself to float somewhere quieter that it feels like a heartbeat. A blink. A breath. 

With his eyes covered, Fahmi shrinks to something small. Gone is the posthumous mantle of Warrior of Light and all the accolades it comes with. Kneeling there, arms tied from wrist to shoulder, he becomes just another man. He becomes _mortal._ Someone that, when Hien looks upon him from above, could be mistaken as a supplicant and not a walking demigod. With coils of treated white rope framing the muscle of his chest and forcing his back to arch, it’s nearly an image of rapture. 

His hair spills in a glossy, black curtain down his back and pools behind him, unbound and devoid of its usual assorted ornamentation. Without braids and careful twists keeping it contained, it is wont to become a curtain. Hien wants to knot his hands in it just to see it contrast against his skin as sharply as it does Fahmi’s. He could, too. Fahmi would lean into it and let him brush every ilm with his fingers, trusting him to be gentle.

The image he makes is nothing short of sensuous and it tests Hien’s patience so sorely it is a wonder they managed to make it this far. The sight of Fahmi kneeling before him, legs half bound and struggling to keep from bursting into laughter because Hien accidentally tickled the back of his knee, was a visual powerful enough to stun. This is more overwhelming.

As if to tempt, Fahmi breathes a soft sound. It’s practically inaudible and Hien would have missed it if he didn’t see the vague shape of the syllable. 

He kneels and rests his hands on Fahmi’s face, searching for any further clues as to what he needs. Finding nothing to work with, he asks, “Are you alright?” 

“Mmn.”

“Words,” Hien reminds. “Just one is good.”

Fahmi’s ears flick, earrings jingling lightly, and he mumbles, “Loud.”

“I got you,” Hien replies, carefully unclipping and removing the set of cuffs from each ear. He places the earrings on the side-table near the futon Fahmi kneels upon for ease of remembering before slipping back into his space and rubbing gentle circles about the base of his ears. 

Without sight, Fahmi is more open in his reactions to things. When he can’t see how Hien’s eyes fill with heat, how his hands tremble at the thought of touching this subservient god, he forgets to watch himself. He is sinking ever farther into his quiet headspace the longer Hien massages his ears and head, hands slowly working down his neck to slide forward and cup his pectorals. 

Striated scar tissue bisects his torso from shoulder to hip (a chronicle of one of many unfortunate Zenos-related events) and ruins what symmetry he may have had before the chaos that was fighting for Ala Mhigan liberation. It’s a splash of color when compared to the paleness of his skin and bleached white of the ropes. A terrible reminder of how easily he could have been lost.

Hien very pointedly decides not to think about it.

He traces the edge of the scar between breaks in the tortoiseshell binding. If he was not to dwell on past mistakes, he would do well to appreciate what has made it out of them.

Fahmi shivers, skin chilled by the air but still ever so slightly feverish. His ears swivel as if to listen for some sort of sign that would allow him to brace for it. When Hien brushes against a nipple, he bites his tongue in surprise.

It isn’t a comfortable or nice thing to experience, that of a swollen and lightly bleeding tongue when your evening is intended to be spent having said tongue do many an unspeakable act, but still he suffers for love (read: to give some form of tender reciprocity) and tries to not further his negligible injury. 

The next brush is… a lot less casual. The first was happenstance, truly, but those that come after are intentional and far less fleeting. Fahmi’s muscles jump in response, lower lip drawn between his teeth to avoid making noise (not that it helps much when things resonate in his chest and throat rather than spill from betwixt his lips). 

“So handsome,” Hien murmurs, words sparingly punctuated by open-mouthed kisses and the wicked scraping of his nails against the skin of Fahmi’s pecs, “and so dedicated. What I would not give to bring you peace.”

He stands, hands sliding upward again to keep Fahmi from pitching forward in pursuit of touch, and unties the small slipknot keeping his pants in place, shimmying out of them in short measure. He has no need to remove a shirt or shoes, not when they had both started in nothing but loose cotton trousers, and the loss of his pants and accompanying shred of modesty still feels vulnerable. Fahmi cannot see him fidget with his smallclothes, but he still feels that there is something to be embarrassed about when he kicks out of them, too.

“Open,” Hien says, tone of voice far from commanding, and Fahmi does so without complaint. 

Even when the redness half-faded comes back with a vengeance, the Miqo’te stays with his jaw relaxed and head held high. There is no imbalance here, no orders given without first having been explored, but instead a will to obey. Everything is a simple task—kneel. Breathe. Open. Stay. Swallow—that he can handle even while serotonin pads his brain with comfort and too few inhibitions. 

Fahmi shudders, mind caught between the precipice of thinking about _why_ his mouth waters so intensely and that of simply turning it off to leave his body in Hien’s care. He wants to detach his mind, be quiet, be _good._ Even when Hien runs his fingers through his hair and lavishes praise on him for following the instruction, he still feels inadequate. 

“Tongue.”

And he allows it to loll out of his mouth ever so slightly, careful to not let drool spill over his lip and down his chin. Hien guides him forward with a hand on the back of his head. 

There’s the sound of skin on skin and slickness before he feels a fingertip bump his upper lip questioningly. The urge to lean towards it and taste nearly overcomes him, but a sharp tug of the rope winding around his chest keeps him in place. He needs to be patient. 

(Even if the slight tenderness and hitch in his breathing that follows the sensation are things he wishes to chase, he would be good. There will be more of it. The tug is not a punishment, but a reminder—he can have all that he can handle so long as he waits.)

The finger bumping his lip moves down, tracing the plush curve and slipping inside his mouth to press down on his tongue. The noise that bubbles from his chest is nearly _criminal._ He wants more than a finger badly enough it burns. His hands flex behind him and his ears pin back when Hien pokes around without care for the mess he makes of his chin (and breeches).

 _Another,_ he wants to demand. _Give me something more._

But it is thoughts like those that brought him low before. He is not supposed to covet. 

(Hien knows this of his heart and watches the struggle in how his eyebrows furrow and muscles tense and un-tense in fits. Had there not been a tortoiseshell of white keeping Fahmi in place, he may have had to deal with him holding his own elbows to keep from acting on his wants. Such is the iron self-control of the Warrior of Light—never allowed to be a man of his own design.)

So he is offered an allowance. Another finger teases at his lip before tucking into his mouth with abandon. The limited space betwixt sharp teeth is forgiving, but the lack of something larger is not. Fahmi moans quietly, breathing even if a bit quick, and does his best to keep from closing his mouth around them. Even when his jaw aches from being open so long and drool drips to the floor, he resists. 

It is a simple task. Open. He’s done so many difficult things (some reprehensible), so why is he so sorely tested by something like carnal _need?_

As if able to sense impending turmoil, Hien murmurs praise. Some of it is Common and some is far more familiar Hingan, sentences strung together from both when a word escapes him, and all of it is suffused with genuine affection. There is no “good” or “bad,” not when Fahmi latches onto negativity and consumes it until it consumes him, but there are compliments. 

“So beautiful,” Hien whispers. “Lovely. Incredible. You’re doing so well for me.”

The full-body tremor that slips down Fahmi’s spine at his words is nigh unnoticeable. It takes time, too. The words are processed slowly, all of him devoted to staying anchored and obedient, but no less powerful for their delayed effect. 

When Hien withdraws his fingers, Fahmi _whines_. He blushes almost immediately after as if the sound is somehow more heinous a thing than his willingness to allow someone to make him wretched of body.

"Ready for more?"

He can do nothing if not agree. There is no better pleasure than that which he is given by Hien's hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi im kiri and i'm 100% soft for loving nsfws. have concrit? feedback? general screeching? want to know why the hell i spent 5 days trying to make this as loving as possible? hmu with some sweet sweet comments n kudos babey!!
> 
> Twitter [@khirimochi](https://twitter.com/khirimochi) OR [@TheHolyBody (NSFW)](https://twitter.com/TheHolyBody)  
> Tunglr @[Main](https://kiriami.tumblr.com) OR @[FFXIV Imagines](https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com)


End file.
